Absolution
by sinking815
Summary: To absolve means to set or declare someone free from blame, guilt, or responsibility. For Gale Hawthorne to find absolution, forgiveness needs to be given. Unfortunately for him, his old friend needs to give it and for Katniss Everdeen, forgiveness does not come easy... After Mockingjay. G/K, T for now.


Absolution  
sinking815  
April 26th, 2014

* * *

_A/N: Feeling inspired tonight to write. I sat down to try my hand at some "Divergent" fiction after listening to the soundtrack for the past two hours, and strangely, this came out instead. Excited for where this seems to be going, so if you're venturing into this, buckle up and bottle your patience. I've decided Suzanne Collins' trilogy is incomplete. And I needed to finish it._

* * *

"_I just want to set you on fire  
__So I won't have to burn alone,  
__Then you, then you know  
__Where I'm coming from" ~rihanna, "fire bomb"_

* * *

He had tried so hard to not come back.

The last time he had laid eyes on his home district, the cinders of chaos and the ashes of the dead threatened to suffocate him. And that was from up in the hovercraft, hundreds of feet between him and the ruins below. If he could still feel the heat of the firebombs and the choking smoke of their detonation all this time afterwards, he couldn't even understand her ability to walk through the thick of it all.

Her…

He can't even think the name without his throat closing down. The gnawing that constantly pulses in his chest rises like an incoming tide, fast and without warning, its ceaseless agony attempting to drown him with every incessant wave.

Gale reaches for his drink, and throws back the remaining clear liquid. He winces against the burn as the alcohol rushes into his stomach, but welcomes the physical pain against the emotional onslaught. His head falls back to the cushioned seat and his hand automatically reaches for the call button. The attendant hurries over as quickly as she can, jostling some other passengers in her effort to reach him.

"Another one," Gale growls, and when her wide doe eyes harden at his brusque tone, he adds quietly, "Please."

She turns to fulfill his drink with an affronted air, but Gale is immune to women and their fragile feelings. He's turned down so many, he's learned not to care. In District 2, his reputation has gotten so bad that girls will warn newcomers who have him in their crosshairs at a local dive.

"Don't even bother with him," they say. "He's still hung up on well… you know."

And they do know, which had always surprised him how fast the word spread that the cousin ruse was just that, a ruse and nothing more. From there, the rumors started coming fast and furious. The whys and what fors compiling until everyone had distilled the theories down to that single damning reason.

"Were they…?" and the hushed whispers that filled in the rest spoke volumes.

The attendant returns and it's all Gale can do to not grab the drink from her hand like a vicious mongrel after some fresh meat. He does drain it in two wonderfully harsh swallows, handing it back as quickly as it arrived.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes blurring from the sting.

She makes some noncommittal noise and sashays away, clearly still offended at his lack of respect.

Gale leans back in his seat, and can't find it in himself to care.

The liquor starts to course through his veins and quell the fire ablaze in his chest. He's ever so grateful for the distraction from his thoughts and dives into that haven, letting it wash over him like a balm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice from the past reminds him how similar they've become. He grits his teeth against the ghost and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes until the blackness flashes with red and yellow spots.

A ding sounds from above and static echoes throughout the cabin.

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our final descent to District 12. All tray tables must be locked and all personal items stowed…"

Gale tunes out, leaning over to look out the small window of the aircraft. Below he can see a map of his old home and his eyes dart through the familiar streets as if chasing memories. He sees the town square has been reconstructed. Scaffolding surrounds the new Hob, its skeleton framework rising from the dark ashy ground like a fledgling phoenix. His gaze travels a worn route so ingrained in his mind that he starts when his eyes fall on the outskirts of the district. The Seam has formed, still infantile but reborn.

He knows somewhere down in those newly constructed buildings, she's there.

Gale looks away, his chest heaving with a sudden panic. He stares at the back of the seat in front of him and wills his heart to slow.

How many years has it been? Three, no, four - Five? Five years.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply once for each year he's tried so hard not to come back.

* * *

There's a general buzz of excitement in the bakery today. Though she stands behind the counter, though people mill about her like busy bees swarming the newly opened flowers of the spring, she feels strangely distant from it all.

Well, not strangely. She's been distant from every other soul since the war. Five years of emptiness has left her hollow and aloof to any other feeling than the monotony of existing.

And that's what she does best. Exist.

So she measures flour for breads, and cake batters, and cookie batters, and switches to sugar for the icing, but she doesn't feel the grainy texture beneath her fingers, doesn't smell the pungent smell of yeast or the sweet aromas wafting as the mixer turns. She just watches the batters churn until her mind is numb from the counting.

Two for cookies.

But numb is good.

Four for doughs.

Numb doesn't hurt.

She's reaching for the next scoop when a hand stills her arm, and she looks up into Peeta's blue eyes. They sparkle at her, and she blankly wonders how he still manages to find energy for this world. It used to make her angry, but now, it deflects off her like a glancing blow.

"Katniss," he says gently, "Hazelle's here."

He pauses as if anticipating some reaction. The most he gets is a nod as she sets down the measuring cup and turns away from him. He doesn't know that she sees the slight fall in his features at yet another disappointment. One day, she thinks he might learn.

Then she sighs, realizing this is Peeta and his hope is inexhaustible.

It makes her weary thinking of it.

"Hello," Hazelle greets her warmly, though her gray eyes track Katniss warily. She doesn't ask how Katniss is doing, and for that, she almost wants to thank her.

Even back before things turned awkward, she and Hazelle had some uncanny ability to communicate with each other. At times, she was more a mother to Katniss than her own. More than once, Hazelle had read the tension in her brow or the twist of her fingers and offered to relieve that anxiety Katniss was feeling. Katniss doesn't have to wonder why Hazelle's never reached out since.

What would there be to say?

So she turns her mouth up the best she can, and offers a less than heartfelt greeting in return.

"I'd like to order some cupcakes, please," Hazelle says.

"Sure," Katniss says, automatically reaching for a cardboard box. "How many?"

"Two vanilla, two marble…"

Katniss reaches for the baked treats, arranging them neatly in the box. Four cupcakes, four people. A thought flits quickly through her mind that sparks a fleeting curiosity as to the occasion. With food and money more plentiful now, it isn't unheard of for people to splurge for no apparent reason. Unless you're Seam-born. Old habits and all that.

"…and one chocolate."

Her hand freezes over the last cupcake. Shock waves course up and down her spine, her senses on high alert, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Her eyes meet Hazelle's of their own accord and some kind of recognition zips between them.

Five cupcakes.

For five people.

Suddenly, it's a different pair of gray eyes that Katniss is seeing.

Her heart rockets into her throat and her vision tunnels, constricting with the heat. A kind of ice-like dread starts in her middle and rushes outward to quell the burning on the fringes. She's melting and boiling with a surge of emotion and her body can't compensate to return her to ground zero.

After so long of not feeling anything, this ambush of anger, and horror, and regret spill over until the roaring in her head is unbearable.

She steps back and the chocolate cake falls to the floor, its molten center spattering the floor.

"Katniss, it's ok," Hazelle says, reaching across the counter.

But Katniss backs away. She's not seeing fudge staining her shoes, but something just as thick and dark. The molten insides of a little girl and the liquid gray of an old friend.

"Katniss, it's not real," Peeta says.

No, she thinks, this is real. Because she's not having a flashback to the arena.

She rips her apron off and rushes out the front door of the bakery, needing to run from the current nightmare.

There's only one reason Hazelle orders five cupcakes when only four Hawthornes live in District 12.

He's come back.


End file.
